The D'ark Chronicles
by m0joy
Summary: The young necromancer Raven D'ark has lived her entire life in the protective shadow of her father Julien. But events unfold that will shatter her existence forever and set her on a path to fulfill her destiny as the Atra Domina - "The Black Mistress" as described by an ancient prophecy hidden in a dusty Vatican archive for centuries.


On a remote, craggy spur of Striga Isle, sits Chateau D'ark. It is a showcase of 16th Century French Renaissance architecture. As much fortress as house, it would be a striking sight on the rugged coastline were it visible to the unaided eye. Spells and wards swirl like fog around it from its deepest foundations to the lightning rods on its numerous rooftops, hiding it from all but the most exotic magics and technologies. The Chateau has stood firm on Striga Island for over 200 years, withstanding the assaults of time, sun, sea and enemies of all sorts with equal grace. No being or spirit has ever stood within its walls uninvited, nor has it ever failed as a safe haven for any of its rightful inhabitants. That such a huge structure could stand undetected was a great testament to the power and knowledge of its proprietor. His home was the heart of his defense, and Julien D'ark guarded himself well.

Even so, in spite of all reassurance, his thoughts were deep and troubled this morning. Every instinct he possessed, even the tips of his hair, it seemed, tingled with foreboding. He had paced, alone in his study since before dawn. Alternately, sipping at a glass of wine and staring out the window into the unsettled sea. His great mind repeatedly ranged over his magical defenses, testing their structure to ensure their soundness. All was as it should be. As one of the world's most powerful necromancers, he had lived long enough to make quite an impressive list of enemies. The fact that he had survived to accumulate them was due, in part, to his insistence on neutrality. His resolve to choose no sides - make no alliances, consequently made him a friend of no one. Were it not for his immense strength, those opposing forces would crush him if they could. He had scanned the surrounding landscape, scoured the aether, consulted with all his available sources - both mundane and arcane - all to the same conclusion: There was nothing to fear.

He could not accept that.

An idea suddenly struck him. In the garden, he thought, perhaps he might find some peace. A change of scenery and another's point of view would be welcome at this point.

_**Raven! **_He called out with his mind.

_**Papa? **_She Had responded instantly. His daughter's mind touch was pleasant balm to his growing discomfort. He could feel her concern through the mental rapport they shared. She, no doubt, had sensed his discontent. Raven was his most cherished treasure.

_**Meet me in the garden, please**_, he sent. _**Perhaps you can help me with something.**_

He left his study then and silently glided through the ancient halls. Most days, he and his daughter were the only living beings in the chateau and today was no exception. His undead staff took great pains to remain unseen and so he strode alone through the halls and rooms. Priceless tapestries and treasures, immaculately maintained, adorned the walls unnoticed as he passed, deep in thought.

Neutrality is a difficult path, but there is power in the middle ground. How often had he held audience with Lord Recluse in the morning and had tea with Statesman later that afternoon? How often had he brokered deals between mortal enemies? Each time, he gathered more power and influence. Such power had extended his life and maintained his autonomy. It took unique resolve to be truly neutral. Though he gained the benefit of access to both sides of power, he bore the risk of having no allies in a conflict.

For some reason he looked up at that moment and found himself in the ancestral hall. All along the walls were portraits of The D'arks from the very first, to Julien's two children. Damien, his first born. A willful child who grew only more headstrong and arrogant with age. The death of his mother made him practically unmanageable. He'd never recovered from the loss. The trauma changed the boy, twisting him in such a way that Julien thought it best to send him back to the 'old country' in France, to live with his uncle. Julien had not seen him in almost ten years.

Then there was Raven, the only female on the wall.

The D'ark family has many traditions, like most families with a long history. Many originated from the family 'business' of necromancy. The oldest and strangest of these traditions commanded that no female shall carry on the bloodline. Daughters were to be slain, preferably in. A rule scrupulously adhered to for over 500 years. Regrettably, no reason for such an extreme measure had survived the generations. Therefore, when his beloved wife Vanessa died suddenly, so early in her pregnancy, Julien made a fateful decision in his grief: He chose to save the fetus, female or not. For his lost love, Julien had defied the tradition and let his daughter live.

Raven - so unlike her older brother, Damien- was a delight. He could not love a child more. She was, by some strange enchantment, the very image of her mother. She craved knowledge and returned her father's affection measure for measure. Where he had failed with Damien, Julien lovingly raised her and nurtured her talents. Quickly, he realized that Raven had the potential to outshine even him.

He continued then, walking the short distance to the garden door. Without pause, he stepped out onto a small, lightly furnished patio that bordered the garden.

The garden was more like a small forest shielded on three sides by the main structure of the chateau and its two wings. The open side afforded a splendid view of the sea. He stared out at the rugged coastline over the wild growth of the garden. His grandfather had enjoyed the garden as a hobby, but since then it had become quite wild. Though he was an infrequent visitor to this part of the chateau, it was, nonetheless, a quiet space suitable for reflection when one's thoughts were unsettled. He resumed his musings as he awaited Raven's arrival.

The nature of the Dark Powers has consumption and coercion at their source, but they are not evil. Evil is in the intent, not in the action, just as a mosquito bearing contagion in its gut is not evil for spreading disease. That was the basis of his philosophy and he strove hard to imprint that onto his children. Damien had ignored him, enjoying the power too much. Like many D'arks before him, Damien reveled in his ability and his power over weaker souls. Raven, however, understood the responsibilities that came with power, and took pains to protect innocents whenever possible. She would not hesitate to do what was necessary if needed, but she understood the consequences of such disregard for balance in the universe.

He sensed that his daughter had finally arrived. The tall door swung open and Raven came into view, bearing a small tray with a dusty bottle of wine and two delicate goblets of fine amber glass. He had not seen her all morning and he observed her with a critical eye. She wore a simple grey, full-length dress that hid her petite, athletic frame and served well to keep her warm in the drafty mansion. Her ebon tresses - were the origin of her name and identical to her deceased mother - served as sharp contrast to her ivory white skin. She appeared almost frail, but Julien knew her strength. She would be off on her own soon, and he knew that she would prosper.

"What troubles you, father?" she began as she approached.

"I have a strong sense foreboding. Have you felt it?"

"A sense of foreboding?" she repeated, dully. "No."

"Were you in the library?"

"Yes, looking into the D'arkling's histories." She set the tray down on an old iron table near the patio's edge. "Wine?" she asked.

"May I see the vintage?"

She handed him the open bottle and he studied the label. Reflexively, he cast a spell to check for poison or hexes. Nothing. "A Talos Pinot? Excellent. I did not know we had any left. A shame those vineyards were overrun by The Circle." He handed the bottle back. "Please."

She swiftly poured and set the bottle down. Her motions were sure and graceful. As she offered up the goblets, he couldn't help but see his wife in her actions. He took the fragile glass from her left hand and stepped out onto the last narrow strip of lawn that had resisted the encroaching garden. With a sigh, he held the glass up to his nose and inhaled deeply, savoring the complex aroma of the wine. It reminded him of better days when his family was whole and his beloved was still alive. He put aside his concerns for a moment and allowed himself time for regret.

"I came through the ancestral hall and saw our portraits on the wall. It reminded me of the importance of family. I wonder sometimes if it would have been better if your brother stayed with us here. Do you think that there might be peace between us one day?"

For a long moment Raven, who had stepped up beside him, was silent. When she spoke, there was great sympathy in her voice. "The grudge is not ours, papa. He cannot forgive me my part in mama's death and he cannot forgive you for forgiving me."

"Had your mother lived, she might have divined the source of this coming threat."

Raven hesitated in her reply. She drew her goblet to her lips and drank a long sip before saying, "It is possible there would be no threat at all."

He frowned as he pondered her words. Following suit, he raised his goblet up and sipped at the cool fluid, savoring its essence. As he swallowed, some faint instinct within him flared warning, but it was too late.

Immediately he knew: Poison, a powerful paralytic combined with a charm that prevented his use of magic. He had checked the wine, but not the goblet! Only his eyes answered his mind's commands. He heard Raven step up softly behind him. As she came into his field of vision, she gently wrested the crystal goblet from his frozen grasp and threw it into the tangle of the garden. Her face was a mask, as frozen as his was, but he could sense a raging storm of emotion behind her closed visage.

He understood, now, the meaning of her last comment. There would be no threat, because, had her mother lived, her pregnancy with Raven would have never come to term. Raven would not have been allowed to live and thus could not slay her father.

_**Why! **_His eyes lent power to the plea and she flinched as the force of the mental cry hit her. She looked away for a moment. He began to fear she would not answer. That he would die without knowing the cause of this astounding betrayal.

Instead, she looked back at him with suddenly soulless eyes and said, _**At least, you deserve an explanation...**_

Then she opened his mind to him, sharing the events of the past day.

As he saw the nightmare through her eyes and senses, his own welled up with tears. He saw a Greater Demon appear before her. He heard its stunning pronouncement and witnessed the quick cascade of events that brought him to this moment. The crushing realization of what he had done twenty years ago sent shivers coursing through him. Now, too late, he understood the purpose of slaying all the females of the D'ark family line. However, it was worse than that; his daughter had the gift of Prescience. She saw the future and shared her vision with him as well. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the horror.

_**So you see, papa. You see what I must confront. They would have used you against me in any event. I have to make your passing have meaning, and to survive**__**-**__**for ANYONE to survive**__**-**__**I need power.**_

_**Raven, how can my death give you power?**_

_**Sacrifice.**_

_**My one soul sacrificed will give you power?**_He asked, still not wanting to comprehend.

_**It is not your soul.**_ She replied. _**The sacrifice is mine. The entity that I seek power from feeds on anguish. I must give up the one I love the most to eternal torment—**_

Raven stepped away from him then, though her tear-filled eyes never left his. The ground around him began to shake. Suddenly, black tendrils burst from the earth and snaked up and wrapped around his frozen limbs. They began to drag him down into the shadow dimension from whence they came. As he was pulled down into the earth, he could think of nothing else, but his little girl. No fear of his demise, only the bleak, arduous days that lay ahead for his bright, beautiful child. Along with all he had seen through her eyes, he had looked into her as well and glimpsed the underpinnings of the desperate plan she had formed to fight the seeming inevitability of the future. He could not help but be proud. She had applied all that he had taught her, the philosophy he had given her to carve out of her doom, the faintest glimmer of salvation. Such a clever girl, so like her mother! He stared into her eyes one last time, ignoring the ravening, writhing tentacles clutching his numbed form and focused all the love and forgiveness he could muster into his final message.

_**Raven! Hear me -!**__  
_  
Then he was gone.

She stood alone in the garden amid the sudden silence. The torn lawn and scattered soil before her was the only evidence of his passing. His presence in her mind was still there, though. Her father was screaming - one long, unending scream.

The shock of it pummeled her to her knees. She sobbed once, squeezing her head with her hands. **_Papa! _**She knew that somehow, her call fell short. He could not hear her, could not gain some comfort from his torment in her voice. When she had made the pact with the _Elder Shade_, to betray her father, she had not considered this possibility. A mistake she would suffer for, but that, perhaps, was its intention all along. She would have to live with this-hear his voice in a corner of her mind-forever. Marshalling her will, she ignored her father's agony and felt some part of her burn away. It was a small price to pay considering the alternative. She straightened then, recalling the resolve that had started her on this path. There was too much at stake to consider her pain - or her father's. She needed her autonomy and she would sacrifice anything to maintain it. Steadily she rose and stood after a moment, remembering the good times spent with her father in this place. This is all the mourning she would allow herself, she thought, wiping away a tear.

A presence intruded on her senses, interrupting her reverie. With a sigh, she ranged about with her will until she focused on a Demon leaning against a nearby fence post. "What now, Baal?"

Discovered, the Demon snapped into view. Ht hardly looked the part, wearing the shape and garb of an average human lawyer or stockbroker. "Not a very reverent tone toward the envoy of The Great Adversary." He said with a condescending frown.

"Work on your entry then," she countered. "Must you pester me?"

"Pester-", Baal repeated as he pushed away from the fence and stepped menacingly toward her. His form seemed to expand with each stride and it looked as if some horrible thing behind his skin might tear through the flesh and into the daylight. "Do not think to anger me, you insignificant whelp!" He roared. "I mastered tormenting your miserable kind since before –"

"Yes." She interrupted, unimpressed. "But you should have come to me sooner. My ancestor was a humble peasant, but I am far from it. I know that you cannot hurt me. You can't harm me in any way. You are an apparition, you have no actual form here and I - according to you - have a destiny to fulfill, which I can hardly do with you dancing in my guts, so say what you've come to say and be gone."

In an instant, Baal reverted to his calm demeanor. "I do so love it when you pitiful beings presume to know what you are doing. It makes your inevitable damnation that much more satisfying."

"Speak Demon!" She cried, ign oring his barb.

"You are commanded—"

"NO!" She cried.

Baal looked as if he might grow angry again, but instead, he smiled at her whimsically for a long moment before he spoke. "You really believe you might have some free will in this don't you? Do you think sacrificing your father to an _Elder Shade_ and gathering some tiny shred of power can protect you from His will? Do you understand what is happening? My Master seeks quid pro quo!"

He seemed to lose his train of thought a moment and said, almost to himself "I do so love Latin. Those were truly the best of times-" With a shrug, he resumed his reply.

"Your dear, sainted great grand aunt, Jehanne was chosen as the instrument of God, and if my Master and Yahweh have anything in common, it's a love of the cosmic balance. Your family thought to thwart my Lord by killing all the female offspring, but we are a patient lot. You are my Master's Chosen Instrument, Raven. You have no say in the matter. It is your destiny."

"No," she repeated with much less fury.

"That's better," said Baal smugly. "In time you may come to enjoy this." He paused, waiting for some outburst from her, but she did not give him the satisfaction. "Your Master commands you to assemble an army and to await further instructions."

Raven hesitated. "That's all?"

"All?" laughed Baal. "Try first. Then tell me if it is enough. Do not disappoint, girl," the Demon continued in a more serious tone. "There are consequences to inaction or failure."

She stared at him.

"You really have no choice," he called out as he faded from view.

"There are always choices," she whispered after the Demon's vanishing form. Her eyes were aglitter with hatred and icy calculation. "Always."

* * *

In the nearly two weeks that had passed since Raven damned her father to eternal torment, she had expected everything to change. How could it not? But she had not expected to come to this conclusion so soon:

Raven was dying.

Every blink of her bloodshot eyes raised the question. Each tormented thought that dragged like barbed wire through her frazzled mind held the query like poison within it:

How much longer could she last before the end?

In her father's study, across his desk, she had strewn dozens of volumes of eldritch lore. She caught a reflection of herself in the window and did a double take. A ghastly apparition, lit by the desk lamp, stared back at her. Her hair hung in waxy tangles around a face drawn and hollowed, devoid of color. There was death in her face. She could imagine the Reaper hovering over her shoulder in the reflection. Her time was short.

Eleven days had elapsed since her father's passing. For eleven murderous, sleepless days, she had tried and failed to summon the D'arkling. Exhaustion nibbled at the edge of her thoughts and threatened to dull her intellect. With trembling hands, she pushed her stringy hair back from her face and re-read passages from the ancient tome. She could imagine the Powers that she had bargained with laughing at her foolishness. Invariably, mortals who dealt with the dark spirits, failed to comprehend the full price of their bargain. With her knowledge of them, she thought she could negotiate without falling prey to their machinations, but she was wrong. The mental bond she shared with her father remained even after she had offered him up. His screams haunted her subconscious. When awake, she had the mental discipline to ignore the constant wailing, but as she drifted off to sleep, his cries became unendurable, and each time, as the moment of slumber arrived, she would awaken, gasping.

She looked up from the jumbled pile of texts and scrolls she had studied and shook her head jerkily. "I WILL NOT FAIL!" There was too much at stake. She had seen a future that was as apocalyptic as humanity's worst imagining. She had to try to avert that future. Her first goal, however, was to rest. In order to do that, she would need to take a powerful sedative - a drug so strong, even her subconscious would lie quiet. Doing so, however, would leave her vulnerable to all the malignant predators of all the dark realms her mind could access. They would descend on her spirit, feast on her psyche, possess her, or worse. She could not risk rest without a guardian. With no allies to trust, her only chance was summoning the D'arkling.

Feverishly, she sought to repeat the incantation before she collapsed. Her prior attempts had failed. Initially, it was due to omissions or errors in her technique, but the last two times she had performed the rite precisely as she had researched it. The result was the same: Nothing. She wracked her mind, considering the cause of her failure. Referencing every document she could find, she could find no clue as to why she could not call the D'arkling forth. Desperation beat with bat wings around the fringes of her thoughts. This would be her last attempt. Madness was only a hairsbreadth away. Stepping away from the table, she cleared her mind as best she could. She considered that she was being too technical with this rite. Papa had criticized her for being too emotionless, too critical when practicing the Art. Passion is part of it, he had said. Perhaps that was the key. This time she would let her NEED into the rite.

She raised her arms and began the incantation. As the words of Power left her mouth, shadows crept away from various points around the room and began to coalesce at her feet and it front of her. On the floor a circle of shadow began to form and swirl like pudding on the hardwood floor of the study.

The disk of shades grew before her into a spinning column from which a muted glow emerged to shine on an enormous shape that began to take form within the eerie mass of light and shadow. Pale blue ghostfire began to flicker at the column's base. She began to grin past gritted teeth, despite the exertions of the rite. She had not made it this far before.

Suddenly, a voice boomed from the column, "Who calls me from my rest?"

She had done it! But there was no strength left in her for exultation. Besides, she needed to finish the ritual or risk having to start over again.

"Hear me D'arkling! I, Raven, of the family D'ark, call you to your appointed duty: Serve me and my family, unfailingly, as you have for all the generations."

There was a long silence. Raven could sense eldritch power lancing through her and all around her. She held her breath. The D'arkling could refuse her.

Finally, it spoke. "As my essence was cast to this purpose, I will do as you say. May none impede the will of the Mistress Raven or of the family D'ark." With that, the circle of flame flickered out and the D'arkling stepped out of the smoking remnants of shadow and into the world of men once again.

The D'arkling was immense. Its black skin seemed to absorb light and merge with its black garb. Nearly as broad as it was tall, it was almost twice her height. It stood motionless, save for its huge horned head, which swiveled slowly left and right. Its red eyes regarded her with apparent dispassion as it crossed its arms and sniffed the air once or twice. Though it had not stood on earth for over 100 years, according to the family histories, it looked down at her with knowing eyes.

"So, the Curse has been released upon our family at last. History shall record Julien D'ark as the fool who defied family law. But lo, his progeny seeks to defy Satan Himself and a bargain made over half a millennium ago. The D'arkling's crimson stare bore down on her, "Mistress Raven, you play a dangerous game."

"Not a game of my choosing," she replied sharply, not liking the D'arkling's reference to her father. "I assure you."

"Indeed?" the D'arkling cocked its head to one side. "Who threatens the family?"

"The list is long and distinguished. I'll need your assistance to fight them."

"That," it replied, "is my purpose."

"Yes. I'm counting on that." She straightened a bit. "Come to my chambers, please."

"Mistress?"

"I need - I need to rest. Now. Currently, the only way to do so is to drop all of my defenses. I need you to watch over me in my sleep."

The D'arkling seemed to understand her plight immediately.

"Very well," it said. "I believed I know the way."

She shambled after the D'arkling's looming form. Nearly oblivious to all, but the need to find her bed and forget the world. Each of her footstep seemed to echo in her mind until she could here nothing but the sound like a heavy rain.

Her perceptions were failing her. The door to her room was suddenly open and somehow, without her even realizing it she was lying on her back. She had prepared a glass with the sedative but it was in the bathroom. She tried to mumble something to the D'arkling about it, but it seemed to ignore her. It set its feet at the foot of her bed and crossed its arms.

Her last thing she saw was the D'arkling's glowing red eyes looking down at her. It was, oddly, very comforting. Finally, with a long shuddering sigh, she released her mind to slumber.

* * *

"MISTRESS!"

She woke with a start. It seemed as if only a few moments had passed since she had closed her eyes. Her limbs seemed reluctant to obey her, and she felt as dry and desiccated as a shed snakeskin. "WHAT?!"

"Your brother calls," said the D'arkling. It seemed to be standing in precisely the position it had taken before her slumber at the foot of her bed.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Almost three days," replied the D'arkling.

"Three—"

"RAVEN!" The voice of her brother boomed through the door of her chambers.

"What- What's going on? Damien. Is he here?" she asked, bewildered, as she levered her feet to the floor and put her hands up to rub her face awake.

The D'arkling seemed to"He sends his form from elsewhere. It is in the hall, I believe, as I have forbid him entry. As you can see, he grows impatient."

"Well. Thank you for that."

"RAVEN! By the Hells! I can't do this all day!"

She was in hardly any condition to entertain company, having spent two weeks in the same clothes, but Damien seemed to be unlikely to give her a moment to freshen up. With a sigh, she rose and stepped toward the door. Guardedly, she pulled the latch open and stared at what appeared to be the ghost of her father. Damien looked quite a bit like papa. So much so, she doubted she could keep the shock from her face.

"Raven! I regret that I could not be there in person, but I trust this sending of my form will suffice." He was showing off his power, she thought with distaste. When she did not reply, he continued. "I have just recently felt the mantle of family patriarch fall to me. Is it true, dear sister?" His voice dripped with contempt and sarcasm. "Has our dear father passed on into the great beyond?"

She said nothing, only nodded her head.

"Oh, dear, Raven! How are you holding up?" he continued with equally false concern. "You look to have taken the shock quite poorly. But, of course, you shared such a close relationship with our dear father. So close. So very, very close. Tell me, were you sucking his—"

"DAMIEN!"

"- very life force from him like some succubus?" He paused for effect. "Touchy, touchy, Raven."

"What do you want?" Her voice had grown deadly calm. She had barely known her brother and only seen him once or twice in recent memory. He was open in his hatred for her, but she had never had cause to respond in kind. However, in the full glare of his spite, she found that there was wealth of hatred of her own within her.

"Why, my birthright of course: The Chateau, and all within it. I will be coming for it in a few weeks. Did you think I would let you keep it? Please be gone before I arrive, as I am disinclined to show you anything in the way of courtesy. I have every intention of resuming the family tradition of slaying females of the line, should we meet again."

"You might find that difficult," she said in a calm, measured tone. Unbidden, the D'arkling stepped forward and stood behind her.

Damien's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but he covered his surprise well. "Another father figure sharing your bed chambers, and so soon! Is Papa even cold yet? No matter, I give you until the next full moon to be gone."

With that, Damien's casting faded quickly from view.

She was trembling. From weakness or rage, she could not tell. In this one meeting, she had come to despise her brother. He had wanted her to fear him, but, she thought, perhaps it was he who came away fearful in this exchange.

Summoning the D'arkling was powerful work and fear was not in her make up. She had faced countless horrors in her short time learning her art. There were great beasts made of shadows. Huge oily things that devoured flesh and invaded minds with ravening madness; or tiny specks of malevolence, like obsidian sand that shredded reality into shards of steaming chaos; measureless states so empty and veiled as to make the cold vastness of the void seem like a lover's embrace. She had feared none of them. It seemed clear to her that Damien had embraced Evil.  
In dealing with the Dark Arts, there was ever the temptation to evil, but her father believed that the essence of Black Magic was not evil. Black Magic is what it is, but if power corrupts, dark power corrupts more easily. Black Magic basis is in consumption and coercion. Papa believed that one must always resist the pull from one side or the other. It was a lesson she had learned well. Neutrality was the only path to freedom. If one succumbed to evil or to good, one had its particular philosophy to uphold. Yet even she had to resist the seductive influence of the dark powers. It was a battle that grew harder as her power had grown. It was a constant struggle. Hence, one of her father's favorite sayings: "Tomorrow dawns a darker day."

After she had the chance to bathe, change clothes, and eat, she found the D'arkling in her father's study. It had returned all the scattered document of her studies to their rightful places and was perusing the assembly of tomes and scrolls with a great deal of interest.

As she approached, it turned its head to regard her. "Mistress."

"D'arkling." She responded in kind. "Have you no other name?"

It seemed to hesitate ever-so-slightly, then said," No."

"Are you a demon?"

"Of course not."

"Then, why do you look like one?"

"Primarily, because it's scary."

She did not know the D'arkling well enough to presume that the reply was a joke, so she waited for more of an explanation.

"This aspect tends to preclude conversation with strangers."

She almost snorted laughter at the understatement, but prompted it to continue with a nod.

"Also, it can curtail violence or speed negotiations."

"So you can change your appearance?"

"Not at will, no. But with the aid of my summoner, I might."

"I'll remember that."

"Mistress, I have thought on the matter of your...vulnerability."

"My sleep issue?"

"I do not wish to continue attending you in your bedchambers. It is—" The D'arkling struggled to find the right word. "-unseemly."

"There are none here to be offended save the undead staff and you have my assurance that my intentions are most chaste."

"Nonetheless, I find this duty –", again it struggled with the right term. "-disturbing. I have a solution, however. It is not ideal, but it may pay considerable dividends beyond its ability to protect you in your sleep."

"I would be most interested to hear your thoughts on this." She began to respond in kind to the odd rhythms of his speech.

"There is family artifact that may serve you in this regard. There may be some difficulty in obtaining it. I would require your assistance."

"Of course."

"Come then."

"Now?"

"Indeed." The D'arkling said as it walked out of the study. "I will elaborate as we go. Timing is important and it is growing dark there even now."

"There?" she asked as she followed.

"France."

"France." She repeated. "I should have known."

The D'arkling seemed intimately familiar with the Chateau. It strode with purpose through the halls, to the kitchen, and through it to the service hall. Down this dark corridor were the larder, wine cellar and other various storerooms. The D'arkling's massive form filled the entire space before her. Though she could not see past it, she knew that at the end of the hall was a small locked door. Raven remembered it from her childhood explorations. It was one of the few doors she had not managed to open.

"Wait a few breaths," The D'arkling whispered over its shoulder at her. "Then Follow." She felt a surge of power and wisps of glowing shadow snaked around the D'arkling's form. It hunched low then, compressing itself impossibly small as it wedged itself into and through doorway.

"Where does this lead?" She asked after the vanishing D'arkling.

"As I said, mistress," grunted the beast as its head disappeared from view. "France."

She stared for a moment at the oddly glowing portal that stood in the empty doorway. The door itself was nowhere to be seen.

With a pang, she finally understood why papa always had fresh cheese and Alsace wines on hand. To France then. She followed the D'arkling into the shimmering portal.

* * *

Antoine Beauchamp was angry. His slippered feet pounded down the stairway to the kitchen. Stupid hag! He raged silently. His wife and her incessant nagging would drive him to certain early death. She was always finding something for him to do. He did not want to live in this drafty old castle. But she HAD to have it. They barely used a third of the place, but she gleefully kept him busy maintaining the crumbling ruin. Bitch! He could never rest. Even now, at 4:00 in the morning, she had him chasing down rats in the wine cellar. She said she heard something in the cellar and would not be appeased until he investigated. It was La Toussaint - All Saints Day, and she had always assumed the chateau was haunted. She would cower under the covers until he returned. He would have told her to do it herself except it was his beloved wine collection. Vermin in his cellar was unacceptable! Very well then, he would show her. He imagined bringing her a trapped rat back to bed with him! That should shut her up - for a moment or two at least. But it wasn't enough. Nothing could be enough. Perhaps he could fake his own death...

He found a flashlight in the kitchen and headed for the stairs. As he fumbled angrily with the light at the top landing he smelled the strong odor of spilt wine. Eh? Rodents destroying my collection! He armed himself with a nearby broom and started down the steps when he heard voices. Intruders? What madness was this? He crept down the stairs, indignant, trying to understand what was being said.

"The doorway from the chateau leads to many places," explained the D'arkling. "Today, we are visiting the chateau's original foundations."

"So, if these are the original foundations of the chateau, what sits above us now?"

"No doubt a new home was constructed after the original departed, judging from the wine rack I knocked over. Some ash, embers and burnt beams were left to cover the move."

"The Chateau has been in the family for generations. It has been transported mystically several times since the 16th century. I believe it was moved from the European continent some 200 years ago. Surely, your father told you this."

"He failed to mention it," she responded tightly. Papa had elaborated on the chateau's history, but had somehow glossed over the obvious fact that a French chateau had scant business sitting on Striga Isle. Raven had never thought to question the point.

"Arête ! Voleur ! - Stop! Thief!" Called a voice from up the stairs.

With a clatter, a middle-aged man in a robe came into view brandishing a broom ready to strike. When he saw the D'arkling, he froze.

"C'est le Diable ! L'aide de Dieu nous ! - It is the Devil! God help us !"

Antoine Beauchamp fainted dead away.

The D'arkling's huge head swiveled over to look at Raven. It shrugged.

"Precluding conversation, I see." smiled Raven as she went over to see how the poor homeowner fared.

"We should hurry." Said the D'arkling.

"This is your show." She replied as she knelt to check the man's breathing. The poor soul would have a bump on his head and quite a story to tell.

She patted him on the cheek and stood as the D'arkling placed his palm flat on the floor and whispered a few quick words. The stone fell away into steps that led down into impenetrable darkness. Raven concentrated, and her mystic power allowed her to see in the absence of light. She'd taught herself that trick as a toddler. Papa was so proud-. The thought of him brought the sound of his screams to the forefront of her mind. She reeled briefly, leaning against the stone wall to resume control – Push the screaming back into the background. It took only a few breaths. When she opened her eyes again, she found the D'arkling staring at her. It said nothing, only turned and resumed heading down into the earth.

The stairs led to a small chamber with a simple stone tomb the only object inside resting at its center. The D'arkling moved to the tomb and rested its hand gently upon the stone lid. Engraved onto its surface were a few words. Raven could make them out clearly, even from where she stood.

Jeanne d'Arc 1412-1431

La Pucelle

"Mistress," said the D'arkling solemnly, may I present your ancestor, Saint Joan of Arc."

"But she was burned at the stake! Her ashes were thrown into the Seine."

"Yes." And when I was able, as family protector, I saw to it that tribute was paid to what little I could gather of her remains." The D'arkling placed his huge hands on the edges of the stone lid and with seemingly little effort, lifted it gently away.

"So you were around even then?"

"Yes, in a much different aspect, even then."

Within the tomb, was a complete set of armor. The suit was tiny, almost as if it were made for a child. Yet it was contoured for a woman. It seemed to have endured the rigors of battle. Raven observed a dent in the helmet and what appeared to be patches on the breast and thigh plates. The metal was burnished so that even after all this time, it appeared to be white.

"I thought her armor was in a museum somewhere."

"No. Many claim that they have her armor, but I have little doubt that this is truly hers. The true test will be when you touch it."

"What will happen?"

"I'm not sure, but we will know."

Her hand trembled slightly as she reached down into the crypt and brushed against the ancient metal.

Nothing.

"Well?"

"Mistress, you don't see it?"

"See what?"

"You are glowing. The armor as well"

"I –" and then she saw it. Faint. Almost imperceptible. If she were religious, she might have imagined angels singing.

"Mistress, this armor shall serve you as I have these past three nights."

"I have to sleep in this armor?"

"Until we find a better solution, yes. I am not all-powerful and, as you mentioned, your enemies seem to be. Nor can I be by your side at all times. The armor will serve many other ways as well - I will have to make some modifications, however."

"I should hope so. I'm no Amazon, but she was downright tiny."

"Aye. And a few mystical adjustments as well."

"How long will it take?"

"Mistress, I will not watch over you in your sleep again."

"Okay. Let's go home. We've got work to do."


End file.
